Heading to the Headmaster's Again
by xXXxSilverWolfxXXx
Summary: Terri Loki is a prankster, as her last name implies. Sure, she's a little different, but in the wizarding world, being different is dangerous. Much more than her life at Hogwarts is at stake. Much, much more.
1. I'm a witch? Ew

**A/N: Hope you enjoy this story!**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter.**

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><p>An old taxi pulls up to the curb, letting out a wheeze and a loud groaning noise. I wince, noting how the cab leaned heavily on one side. I hand the old man a twenty and hop off as fast as I can, grabbing my belongings in a similar manner. The rusty car pulls away, only to break down a few blocks later. The man climbs out, glares at me like I did something that caused his car to stop, and calls the tow company.<p>

I turn away. I did nothing, so why should I care?

I stand in front of the station, the sounds of a very ordinary London roaring in my ears. I had been here on many occasions, but this time, magic seemed to fill the air. I finish gazing upwards and shrug on my bags, my dark blue eyes darting around. Still surrounded in my own thoughts, it takes me longer to lug all of my belongings to a cart, and even longer to load my belongings onto the small push-cart. The weight has an advantage, so I give it a harsh push and jump onto the back, cold steel biting into my palms.

I catch reflections of myself in the shop windows. A tall black-haired girl with a pristine white tank, a worn cropped black leather jacket, black skinny jeans with laced-up black combat boots stares back at me. Sharp cheekbones, pale complexion paired with an oval face with symmetry a supermodel would envy. Or it would be if my face wasn't marred by a scar that traveled from my right cheekbone and up to the lower right side of my forehead, cutting my porcelain looks into shattered glass. The scar was there ever since I can remember, and they told me it was because of a shattered mirror. And the most striking features: my eyes. Cat's eyes, tilted upwards on the outer corners. They are a deep midnight blue with a band of lighter blue in the middle. They hold a forever in them, an infinite wisdom. A dreamer's eyes, one that sees everything and nothing. Ones that don't miss anything.

On the subject of missing, the eyes of strangers would hopefully be on me, missing the indignant raven that is currently preening itself, as if knowing it would be the center of attention at the station. She is a beauty, a predator in her natural element. Blue-black feathers with golden eyes, and one golden feather is what makes her magnificent, along with a four-foot wingspan and strong primaries. NightShadow finds an offending feather and picks it out with her razor-sharp beak. As soon as she is done with the deed, her piercing gaze lands on me, intense blue eyes meeting sharp golden ones. Once she is captivated, I grab the cover cloth and unleash darkness over her. NightShadow caws, surprised, but keeps silent when I start moving the cart, laughing silently to myself at her actions.

The sound of train whistles blast my eardrums to bits as I near platform nine and three-quarters. On the way, I notice a group of people like me, trying to get to the same destination, all sporting owls and suitcases. One flashes his wand and shakes it at a younger sibling, causing a frazzled mother to pinch her nose bridge and say something slowly which makes the taller one blush fire-engine red. Blazing a path through the ever-thickening crowd, I head towards a normal-looking brick arch. But, if I really am a witch, then it should be a portal to a magical world. Well, I prefer dragons. Maybe they'll have dragons in the wizarding world. Hopefully.

Lost in my ever-randomer thoughts, I run over a stray foot and my cart goes flying, sending the somewhat-calmed down bird into a frenzy. Just wonderful. Magic would be useful in this situation. Like cake. Cake is always good, especially strawberry cake. I look at the person jumping around on one foot and apologize profusely, asking again and again if he's okay. I realize it's the younger one who was being tormented earlier by his elder brother. The black haired boy waves me off, and I assume that he's fine if he'll treat me that way. He takes a look at the mess on the ground, at me try to heft a suitcase, and then at his dad, who was right behind me.

"Albus Severus Potter! Help the young lady, will you?" The man's voice is powerful, commanding, yet soft at the same time. I turn and face him after finally getting the bag into the cart.

"Hello, I'm Terri, Terri Loki," I hold my hand out for the man to shake. He furrows his brows and I feel a slight prickling in my head, an unscratchable itch in my brain. I stand awkwardly, one hand out and a rapidly diminishing courage. He is middle-aged, with wire rimmed glasses, green eyes, unruly black hair, and a lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. Just when I think he's not going to take my hand, his face flattens out and he takes my hand.

"Harry, Harry Potter," he looks at me with pity in his eyes like he could see my memories of my life at the orphanage. Meanwhile, his son had finished getting the bags into the metal cart. "JAMES, LEAVE LILY ALONE!" I continue on my way, figuring that Lily was his daughter and that James was the eldest son, making Albus the whipped cream in a strawberry cake. As I proceed to the brick arch, I figure it would look quite odd, silly actually, if I suddenly ran into a six foot thick brick wall and went nowhere, so I pull a small object out of my jeans pocket. It's rounded in figure, and colored powder dribbles out of a minuscule hole in the top. Running my nimble fingers over the distraction, I quickly pull a string on the color-bomb and run. I hear a thump as it hits the ground, and a fizz when the baking soda hits the vinegar. The bottled-up carbon dioxide powers the colored powder, which will explode in three... Two... One...

"Merlin' underpan—" An indignant voice rumbles, then chokes. "MY SUIT!" Just my luck. I have angered a most likely powerful or rich person. And a magical one too. He said Merlin's... I'm not even going to try thinking about that. I sprint through the smoke, holding a cloth to my nose and mouth, fumbling blindly around for my cart with my belongings. I grab the handle of the metal cart and aim the front towards the arch and I run, hopping on top when I gain enough momentum. I close my patchwork eyes and pray that the letter wasn't a hoax just when I'm about to hit the wall. _My body would make an interesting shape though_, I think wryly to myself, _you know, just splattered against the wall._ I am braced for impact when I pass through unharmed, and I whoop loudly, startling bystanders.

"WILD ANIMAL PASSING THROUGH!" My voice cuts through the light banter of all the Englanders. "'Scuse me, pardon, watch out, OUTTA THE WAY!" I jump off the cart and stop it just in time to avoid hitting a girl engrossed in a book. She looks up, her brown hair bouncing around her shoulders, and then examines me, finally settling on my scar. She realizes that she's staring, and mutters apologies. I wave it off, and then unload my bags onto another cart, which is taken by a person in robes. Free of all my things except for my day bag, I proceed to board the train. I check the inventory if my bag before i board, making sure that I had everything. Mini weapons of mass destruction: check. Hogwarts uniform: check. Money: check. My trusty Swiss Army Knife: Check. I'm ready to roll. Right before I step on, I palm my willow and unicorn-tail eleven inch wand, the smooth wood calming me. I take a deep breath, flip on a smile, and step forward onto the train cart. The whistle sounds, steam blows, and my lithe figure disappears, the steam blanketing me and rendering me invisible, as if magic was already at work.

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it!**

**~xXXxSilverWolfxXXx**


	2. Sent to The Head's on My First Day

**A/N: Second chapter is up!**

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. Only T. Loki. **

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><p>"Check out that girl," I shoot a dirty look at a boy my age, who flinches away once he meets my eyes. Others see my eyes and wince, turning different directions. Some make remarks, needling me, provoking me. Most just stare. I continue through the carts, trying to find one that will accept me for who I am, not a freak or a monster. Soon I find one with no one in it. Making myself comfortable, I put my feet up on the table provided and take out my headset, playing my favorite song.<p>

"—It's getting cold and it's dark outside and I can't trust anything now…—" I'm singing out loud (a habit) when someone interrupts, coughing politely into his wrist. I take off the headset, irritated. Couldn't he have taken the hint that I didn't want him there? He had been standing out there for half my playlist, just standing there. "What do you want?"

"Can I sit here?" An Asian, Korean maybe, pushes his glasses up his slipping glasses up his nose. Black tousled hair, and maybe a height of five eight, taller than I am bu at least three inches. Pale skin, wide shoulders, pre-puberty voice, and feet that are firmly planted into the ground. He carries a heavy textbook and a bag, most likely stuffed with books. Strapped to the top is an instrument, a violin or a viola. The most intriguing part: black eyes that shone with the universe's knowledge. I could probably bet that he knew more than the average ninth grader.

I finish my through examination of him, settling on not to pat him down for weapons. I nod my head, giving him permission to pass though the door. "Sure, knock yourself out." He comes in, trips on his untied shoelace, and hits his head on the table. "Oh my gosh... I meant figuratively, not for real..." I put my hand to his neck, trying to find his pulse. Yup, he's out cold. Now I can apply what teachers say to my life. I heft his bags into a magically expanding compartment (the bags were filled with books), put his violin/viola on top of the couch arm, and I try to lift him onto the couch. First of all: I was never the best at lifting. Second of all: I'm already exhausted from lifting all those books. Hold on a second, books! I get a book out (Magic for Dummies) and flip hurriedly through it. Finding the incantation, I practice the words and the wand motion a few times on a feather until I have complete control.

Time for the first test."Levicourpus!" I worry for half a second that it won't work, but then the boy's body lifts slowly into the air, and I am able to lower him gingerly into the couch. "Woo hoo!" I let out a war cry and silently congratulate myself.

"Uhh... What happened?" He's awake now, good. He's also kind of disoriented, but he should be able to fill in the gaps by himself.

"Calm down, you merely got yourself knocked out, and I had to get all your stuff into a compartment..." His eyes widen in fear. Not for himself, but for his personal belongings.

"MY VIOLA!" I hold my hands up, motioning at him wildly to calm down. He looks bigger now, shoulders squared, back straight, and a sucked in breath, making his chest cavity seem larger and his waist thinner. Overall, the transformation from a studious boy to a threat is impressive. Impressive, but scary.

"Calm down! Your viola is right next to you!" He looks, and then the tension in his shoulders disappears, making him seem a little (a lot) smaller. He starts to unpack his wooden instrument, stopping when he notices that I am observing him, my eyes picking up on the smallest details. I nod at him to continue, and he resumes, running his fingers over the delicate strings. Producing a thin bow, he begins to play. His fingers dance nimbly from one string to another, shifting positions as easily as I can blink. His bow hand holds the wood gently, yet he is able to produce jagged, shocking noises from the small instrument. It's a rollercoaster, the notes building the foundation and the emotion poured into it the lack of seat belts. After he's done, I clap, amazed at the show of talent.

"Great performance! How long have you been playing?" The melody rings in my ears, sure to haunt me for a couple of weeks.

"About three years, and the name's Nix, by the way. Nix Allister," Nix, the name fits him.

"Terri, with an 'I'. If I were to play an instrument, I think the world would explode," I counter, trying to defend my non-musical-ness.

"Come on, you wouldn't be that bad..." I shake my head violently.

"I can tame any animal though," that's the only talent I have, aside from terrifying little kids. Nix's face lights up, and he takes out a covered cage with a very loud and very angry falcon in it.

"Really? Here, take him!" Oh great. I've gone and dumped out a bucket of worms now. It's my only secret that I really liked, the only one that made me feel useful. I eye the squirming falcon, pinning him there with the force of my gaze.

"What trick do you want him to learn?" The falcon screeches loudly and nearly deafens me.

"Umm... Could you teach him to be quiet for three minutes?" I nod and prepare my vocal chords. I sing, letting the music wash over the bird, who looks at me in wonder. He falls silent, as if under a spell. I repeat the last four notes seven times, and the falcon caws softly in recognition, and then falls silent again.

"There, he shouldn't be much of a problem now. If he is, just repeat these four notes," I whistle four notes, making them clear and defined. "And then he shouldn't be much of a problem." I grab a water bottle and gulp down half.

Nix stares at me and his now silent bird. "You've got talent; I've got to give you that." My stomach chooses to growl then, horrifyingly loud in the small space. Nix grins, laughing at my flushed face. "Hungry?"

"You bet," he begins to pull out some galleons out of his pocket. "Oh no, we don't need them." He looks at me, confused.

"It's free?" I shake my head. "Then…"

"Nah," I pull out a noise cracker. "Watch this." I disappear, invisible to them, but still there. Nix rants about how this isn't scientifically possible to himself, and I watch in amusement as he slaps himself and starts saying how we're in a train on our way to irrationality. I choose that moment to pull the noise cracker, making Nix hug his viola to his chest and for the serving lady that was pushing the cart to faint. I wink at them and begin to lift some chocolates from the cart. "Help yourself." I pop a package of sugar quills and suck on one contentedly, letting the sugar hit my bloodstream. I stuff a couple in my bag, just for later.

A couple hours later, we all arrive at the station. I am eating my third sugar quill (a mistake) when we get off. A burly man by the name of Hagrid ushers us all into small boats.

"Oh, Terri an' Nix, yer suppos' to report to the office immediately," his voice is loud in the silence. I place both hands behind my neck nonchalantly. Nix repositions his glasses and scratches his head.

"Why?"

"Underage magic, that's why!"

"Well, I was too weak to lift him, and he had books on magic… So I just flipped through it, nothing wrong with that, right?" I gesticulate with my hands, trying to defend myself from getting expelled on my first day.

"You'll have to deal with the headmaster, follow me," He motioned for a blood-covered ghost to take the kids and led Nix and I up corridors and hallways, stopping in front of a stone gargoyle.

"BUTTERBEER!" I cover my ears as his strong voice reverberates down the hallways and pierces my eardrums. Nix shudders as the stone moves, and behind it is a moving staircase.

"Do I really have to?" I plead, trying to capture his attention with my eyes. But apparently he already knows about them because he will not meet my gaze. Nix clings to his viola (he didn't leave it behind on the car saying that the wizards wouldn't handle it well) and wipes his glasses.

I step on the first step and wobble to balance. I jump off when it suddenly speeds up. "What the heck?"

"The headmaster must want to see you badly," Hagrid motions for Nix to follow, and he does, reluctantly. We step on together and wind up the tower.

"We're off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of O-"

"Shut up!" I shoot Nix a mock hurt glance and we both start laughing. Then I realize that he isn't scared of meeting my eyes, unlike many others (who went and hid underneath the sink or someplace ridiculous. Soon we reach the door and I hold my hand out to rap on the wood. The door opens before I touch it and a voice sounds.

"Come on in, Terri Fallen Loki and Nix Allister. I've been waiting."

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><p><strong>AN: There's a handy little button down there, just to tell the author what you think of their story! You know you want to...**

**~xXXxSilverWolfxXXx**


	3. Witch-eyes

**A/N: Here's the third chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I own Terri and Nix, no one else.**

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><p>I stride into the room feigning boredom while Nix clutches his viola closer to him. My attention is immediately caught by the whimsical metal contraptions laying about the cluttered room, and I dash over, moving from one to another at a breakneck pace. My attention span is (very) short, so I'm halfway through all of them when the lady calls me out.<p>

"Terri, do sit down. You're making me dizzy," a woman with her hair tied up strictly into a tight bun sits behind an ancient wood desk. She waves her wand at a pencil that had strayed from the table and it morphs into a velvet plush chair. She does the same to a feather, inviting the shaking boy to sit. I plop myself down, muttering about how I wanted to look at the mechanics some more when a flame-coloured bird catches my eye. I gaze at the bird in a cage intently.

"Excuse me," I peer at the nameplate at the top of the desk, but its too far away for me to read. "Mrs. Madhatter, what breed is that bird?"

The lady sighs for reasons she only knows. "It's a phoenix." I gasp.

"Really?!" I had only seen pictures of them in books and on the internet, but this is the real deal.

The "real deal" sits on a perch, bending over and coughing. It looks unhealthy and old, not anything like the magnificent, strong birds of myth I adore. I stare at it in disbelief. "Does it always looks like this?" I ask questioningly, making a gag face at Nix and an innocent one at the Bun-master.

"It looks like it's going to combust soon," Nix adds nonchalantly, relaxing a little when he sees my face, even having to constrain an escaping grin.

"And what are the signs?" Mad hatter lady asks, her attention captured by Nix's intellect in magic.

"Old age, molted feathers, drooping head, and withered beak," Nix shoots off some more pointers on how to tell if it's going to explode violently into flames. "Watch!"

A small flame appears on the wingtip, consuming feather after feather. It consumes the wing, then moves onto the body. Soon the bird is shrouded in flames and it caws contentedly, as if it wasn't currently being eaten alive by the licking fire. Small notes fill the air, thrumming with melodic power, and I mimic the sounds as a tribute to the "dying" bird. After he finishes, there is a small phoenix- sized explosion. I shield my eyes and blink away the after images.

In the place where yellow and orange flames used to dominate sits a vulnerable baby phoenix. It coughs up some ashes and begins to chirp for food. The headmaster pushes the chair back and waves her wand around, calling for "Flame seeds" and "Dragons' breath". The packets whiz to her, landing in neat rows along with a bowl and a stump of a stick. She begins to mix the two, adding a few pinches of whatnot here and there.

"Now, Terri, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"Umm... The fire explosion was cool," I decide on not adding a smart-aleck comment to the end. I'm in enough trouble as is.

"No, I mean regarding the underage magic," she puts the grounded up powder into small pills and feeds one to the phoenix.

"Oh, that! Well I was just trying to lift Mr. Weighs-a-ton (insert indignant "hey!" from Nix here)onto the couch, but I couldn't lift him. So I got a magic book open and did some wand magic and lifted him," I snicker at Nix's sputtering that he only weighs a hundred and two pounds.

Mad hatter looks at me. "Could you do the spell again?"

"Ummm... Sure," I take my wand out of my pocket. "What should I levitate?" She points at the chair I was just sitting on.

I step away from the chair and take five steps, pivoting on my heel. "Levicourpus!" The chair floats, and I watch as Nix tries to wrap his head around the face that gravity isn't the same once magic gets to it.

"Very good, excellent actually for a girl your age," her eyes sparkle. "How many tries did you need in order to get the spell?"

I count mentally. "Four," I reply, hesitant.

"That settles it. You two run off to the hall, I'll be there to Sort you," she grabs a tattered hat off the top of a cabinet and ushers us out.

As soon as Nix an I are alone, I start mimicking the headmaster's voice, warping it beyond recognition. Nix turns us in the right direction after we pass the same picture three times in a row, saying that I was making him laugh to much for him to concentrate.

In the hall there are thousands upon thousands of students. The years are easily identifiable, the second years jeering at the newcomers, third years looking disinterested, fourth years chatting animatedly about their own Sorting, fifth and sixth years just awaiting the food eagerly The seventh years look on with nostalgia shining in their eyes, shining with the past Sorts.

I take a spot in a long line and pull out my wand and twirl it trough my fingers, bored. Nix pulls a book about quantum physics from nowhere and begins to read. I open my mouth to point out that the text in there won't apply to that when I realize the distinct separation between the people.

In green and silver sit the Slytherins, proudly proclaimed as the sly and cunning by the banner over their heads. Their mascot is a snake, eyes piercing and fangs exposed.

Red and gold, Gryffindors sit proudly underneath a roaring lion. The courageous and strong, they watch with rapt attention as the first years file in.

Yellow and black, Hufflepuffs. The loyal and humble the banner says, with a badger on the side.

An eagle has its wings outstretched, grabbing onto the word Ravenclaw. They sit in blue and silver, the intellectual and witty ones do.

I guess that Nix will most likely go to Ravenclaw. I look back and see that Nix's already through half of the book. Yup, definitely Ravenclaw. As for me, I don't really know. A Slytherin perhaps, but I'm not entirely sure.

Mrs. Head witch steps up with the tattered hat in her hands. She places it delicately down onto a wooden stool, and to my amazement, a rip opens and closes like a mouth, producing words.

_I am old and tattered, yes,_  
><em>but wise upon years I am,<em>  
><em>None other shall be as smart as me,<em>  
><em>I'll be a flying pig if you can!<em>  
><em>I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat,<br>The one who shall decide where you shall be,  
>so try me on, and ye shall see.<br>Will you go to Gryffindor?  
>There the brave in heart dwell,<br>They have __courage, nerve, and chivalry,  
>They'll always serve you well.<br>You might be among the Hufflepuff,  
>Where their loyalty is unmatched,<br>They are hard-working and honest,  
>And will wait as time shall pass.<br>Will you be with Ravenclaw?  
>Wielding their wit like swords,<br>Their desire for knowledge strong,  
>Others shall present a hoard.<br>Or perhaps in Slytherin,  
>Where the sly and cunning are,<br>You'll make real friends,  
>Ones who may hold you at heart.<br>So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
>I will place you where your heart tells me,<br>And not where you want,  
>Believe me, I will Sort you-<em>

I grow tired. "Can we move on already?!" Every single head turns towards me, rows upon rows of shocked faces and wide- open eyes. I put my hands on my hips, "I am allowed to speak my mind, no?" The ancient hat turns towards me and squints (does it even have eyes?) in my general direction.

_Child of Miranda,  
>Place me on your head,<br>Your eyes hold forever in their grasp,  
>Who knows where your days will end?<em>

The room feels colder, even with my heavy cloak on. No one knew or knows my mother, Miranda Starr. No one. Everyone's eyes follow me as I stride up and place the hat on. It smells of mystery and dust, magical dust. A small voice sounds through my head.

_Now there's a feisty one,_

I am not feisty! I am just defensive of myself and my ego!

_A difficult one to place,_

Really? I thought it would be straight forward... Only four right? Just pick one!

_A dangerous one, outside and in,_

Sure, whatever you say... Well, I do have more of those color- bombs in my pocket, do you think they'll know it's me?

_So I say..._

So you say? Hurry up, I wanna know!

_"SLYTHERIN!" _The hat yells it out to the audience, not in my head this time, and I wince under the force.

I take off the hat and stare out at everyone in the audience. I shoot a quick glance at Nix and I am rewarded with a thumbs up. I wince, remembering the many ways that could be interpreted.

"Ummm... Okay then!" I walk (swagger as Nix puts it) over to the Slytherins in their black and green robes. They stare at me in a mix of awe and fear, awe from my outspokenness and fear from my eyes. I shiver, the chills still running up and down my back. _Who knows where your days will end.._. Questions, questions.

The Sorting continues, in alphabetical order this time, skipping over my name. Nix, as I had predicted, was placed into Ravenclaw. He is readily welcomed into their group, immediately launching into a long verbal essay about the universe and its creation as a greeting.

While Nix is lapping up their attention and information, I am faced by stony silence and hostility. I point at a victim. "You, tell me your name."

"Eric, Eric Hutterson, ma'am!" I narrow my eyes and try to keep my face expressionless, not bursting out into hysterical laughter at the last second.

"What's up with the 'ma'am'? I'm not some old lady, you're older than I am!" The second-year holds his hands up to his face as if I were to strike him at any moment. "Gosh, what's so scary about me?" I demand, standing up quickly and glaring at everyone.

One fourth-year raises his hand. "Witch-eyes, ma lady, witch eyes. They only come about once every a thousand years, and the bearer is supposedly either the bringer of New Evil or the Savior." My eye twitches comically, my mouth open in disbelief.

"Soo... I'm either the tyrant that rules over the wizarding world or the one that saves the wizarding world from becoming communist? Oh, and thank you for being unafraid to tell me who I am," I glance around, expecting some sort of sign to hang over me like in Rick Riordian's _Percy Jackson_ series. "Right?"

"Yes ma'am!" I throw my hands up into the air as a sign of defeat.

"Well, I'm eating now, so don't mind me," I grab an apple and some strawberries and chomp into them, the apple being the right firmness and the perfect sweetness. They stare at me as if I were eating a baby's arms and legs. "What?" I cover my mouth and send them all a piercing glare. They snap to attention and start eating, the silence covered up by the sounds of Raveclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor's excessive chatter. I pick at my food, but when we are allowed to leave the table, I jump up.

"Follow me, to the Slytherin dorms!" A perfect stands and herds us like sheep to the dorms. As we go, the light turns a sickly green, the air becomes damp, and the sounds of our footsteps echo eerily down the cobblestone passageways. We reach an enchanted picture that looks down at us.

"Password?"

"Petrify," the perfect replies calmly. The frame swings open and we file through.

The first thing I notice is how Gothic the place looks. Black leather armchairs, a flickering fire within an obsidian-plated fireplace. Above it lies a sculpture of a serpent, the sign of the Slytherin.

"Okay guys, girls on the right, guys on the left. You all know what to do, your items are sitting at your assigned quarters. Terri Loki, come with me," I hide my expression under a hood, pulled tight over my head. The girls watch me, questioning me with their eyes. The boys snicker and elbow each other, probably thinking some things that guys think (Ya'll know what I'm talking 'bout). I catch a glimpse of me in the dark glass. A girl with her face hidden in darkness peers back, the blue irises casting a phantom-like glow on the mirror. The Perfect takes me down another set of stairs and points at a room.

"That's yours," I gaze at the door. Columns frame the petite door, stopping midway and transforming into a graceful arch. I put my hand to the door and snatch it away quickly.

"When did you last clean this thing?" I glare at the perfect from underneath my hood. My eyes don't show, but the force of it hits him well. He fumbles for his wand and preforms a quick spell.

"Scourgify!" The dust vanishes and the door creaks open. Thankfully, the inside is clean. It's musty and dank, yes, but it's still homely. A twin bed sits on the side of the half-court sized room. The color scheme is mostly green and silver, but the flame in the fireplace flickers in reds and yellows. A dark wood desk that sits facing the foot of the bed has cabinets and drawers for materials. The floor is covered in a white plush carpet, which changes to black tile once it passes through the door to the bathroom. An empty closet door hangs open, revealing a spacious compartment (most likely magical) and a coat rack.

"Why am I in a separate room? Does everyon-" He pushes me in.

"You can take a shortcut from here to the great hall through the mirror in the bathroom. Good night!" The door slams, and the faint flame flickers out, leaving me in darkness.

And in that darkness, I shower, brush my teeth, trip over my bags, and let loose a string of colorful language when I stub my toe on the wood desk. I front-flip onto the bed and lay there silently until sleep envelops me in it's soft embrace.


	4. I Make New Friends-NOT

**A/N: Terri is clumsy, no?**

**DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Only Terri and Nix. **

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><p>A loud knock sounds at my door. I flop around for the lights that were supposed to be near my headboard when I remember that I'm at Hogwarts. A moment later, my hand comes to contact with a lamp and knocks it over, resulting in a loud crash and the sound of shattering glass. I mumble and curse loudly when I stub my toe on the suitcase that is still on the ground. "What?" I put all my frustration in that word. I bang my head on the desk and I swear, I have the worst luck ever. Does it make anything better that it's a Monday?<p>

"Breakfast, ma'am. Someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?" Didn't I tell them to stop calling me "ma'am"? I'm mad at the desk, suitcase, and now the chuckling boy behind the wooden door, and when I'm mad, no one makes fun of me.

"No, I've been up for hours, ya know, eating annoying people like _you_ for breakfast!" Wow. My second sentence of the day is already laden with sarcasm. I'm in a bad mood, and I can tell that I'm going to hate today. I can hear some quick scuffing of feet and a pitter-patter of running ones, the sound diminishing with time. I guess he ran away, a good choice. But it's not like it matters, I'm probably locked in from the outside anyways.

The wardrobe opens, revealing an empty space. Bending down for the suitcase, I roughly snatch my clothing out and sort them into colors. Extra hangers appear when I run out, which proves useful for all the pullover hoodies I have. After hanging my thirteenth slate-grey hoodie (I have thirty-eight, all in shades of grey), I realize that I'm going to miss breakfast if I decide to sort all of my clothes. Quickly after that though, I quickly throw on a tank top and skinny jeans, wondering about breakfast. Slipping on running shoes, I jog to the bathroom and pop open the mirror and head down the dark tunnel.

The cobble passageway is dimly lit by green fire, which is placed quite a distance from each other, leaving me to run in the dark at some intervals. The floor starts to slope upwards, and I find a bookcase standing in my way (after running headfirst into it painfully and making a very heavy _thud_ noise).

"What, a bookcase? How am I supposed to move this thing?" Yep, I'm talking to myself now. I'm going crazy after one night in isolation. I wonder how I'll fare for the rest of my school life here. I try pushing it forwards. Nope, I only accomplish making myself exhausted. I try sliding it, resulting with me having a broken nail and a bruised finger. I try sliding it form the right and find out (by ramming very painfully into the wall) that if I press a stone then the bookcase will move by itself.

I emerge from the tunnel gracefully, with a delightful face-plant into the hard tiled floor as a finale. "Hey friend," Yes, I'm talking to the floor now. I'm seriously going crazy, "How's life?" I get up slowly and come face-to-face with a grim ghost.

"I would help you up, but I'm a ghost," there is a streak of blood that shines silver, which means he must be the Bloody Baron. The Slytherin House ghost, and the most feared one. I bow and manage not to fall down when the bookcase slams shut behind me. The ghost looks at me in silent appreciation. "At leas some people remember the old times..." He drifts off thoughtfully and I am left with a cold breeze. Cold, but comforting.

After a few seconds, the thought hits: I haven't eaten anything yet. I can hear the excited chatter from here, so I head in the general direction of the heavenly smell of coffee.

* * *

><p>I step into the hall and the chatter falls away, replaced by hostile silence. Stares penetrate me; not all of them are friendly. I find the Slytherin table and sit, feeling like I am going to throw up once I take a single bite. The head table is filled with teachers, and not one of them can take their eyes off of me. I beg with my eyes to tell the students to talk again, but they merely look away and mutter to each other. I quickly grab a cinnamon roll and tear at it, feeling the eyes on me, pinpricks that make me uncomfortable.<p>

"Look, Courtney, it's the freak!" What, I'm a freak now? I turn and look at the terrified girl.

"Oh, so I'm a freak?" I make sure to stand tall, shoulders back to give myself a larger presence in the room. "What make me more of a freak than a life-sized Barbie doll that cakes on makeup, tries to make herself feel better by bringing others down, and looks like she just crawled out from the lake?" the girl shrivels, covering her face in a pathetic attempt to cover her overuse of makeup. She come out again and tries another shot.

"At least I don't dress like a hobo! You're ugly!" Gosh, who taught this girl manners? I feel like throwing pine cones at her family.

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. I'd like to see things from your point of view but I can't get my head that far up my own butt crack," I retaliate. Good thing I have a sharp wit.

I roll my eyes at her and turn. "Anyone else want a shot?" Silence greets me, a noise that speaks volumes.

"Good," I turn sharply on my heel and walk. I feel more than hear the light footsteps, the pressure on the ground reaching me before the noise. I begin to speed up. I don't need anymore trouble.

"Terri! Wait up!" Nix trails me, his hair unbrushed and messy. His glasses bounce on his nose as he approaches.

"Yes?" I stop in front of the bookcase, putting my hand on the shelf that would let me enter my safe haven.

"You made that girl so mad, she was sputtering and stuttering about how she was gonna get you back," He squints at me, and then takes off his glasses to polish them. "I've been protecting your reputation too. They've got some nice nicknames for you, here's some of the good ones," he rattles off a long string of phrases that would make a hardened redneck blush.

"Dang. I'm popular," I try to open the passageway again, hitting the wall and then figuring out that if you press the shelf, it opens. I press the second shelf and the bookcase rumbles and moves aside, revealing the dark passageway. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go to my tiny dungeon..."

"Who are your roommates?" Umm, Alone, Lonely, and Nobody. They're really pleasant company, ya' know?

"I have none." Dangit, I could have used my awesome powers of sarcasm! Why didn't I?

"Why? I have like three, who are _the _most annoying people on the planet. One is a champion snorer, another screams in his sleep, and the last one just reads 'till one in the morning." I wince.

"Do you get any sleep?"

"Yeah, Most of the time I'm able to sleep through it all. The other night I slept for almost ten hours. Ten hours of beauty sleep, and I still look like this," He points at himself.

"Because apparently I have witch-eyes, which appear once every thousand years, and in the past, you know, all of them killed masses of people and were on the most wanted list. I guess I'm going to be headed there too," I glance down the darkened tunnel and disappear from his sight.

"Okay Terri, they're just curious of your eyes. You're special, and they're getting used to it. You'll get used to it. They'll stop staring, one day. One day." I pace back and forth in the darkness, consoling myself. But it's futile, I know that the stares will never end. So I decide not to give up hope. They'll come along. I mean, everyone's special in their own way, right?

I stand, studying my classes. "Charms with Hufflepuffs."

The Slytherin robes are dark and forboding in black, silver, and green. I slide my arms into the sleeves and slip my wand into the pocket provided, all the time muttering an old mantra to myself.

"I am the circle and the circle is me, I am the circle an the circle is..." The words have already burned their way into my heart. I pull on my steel-toed boots and walk to the bathroom, prying open the mirror and ducking through. As I emerge from the shadows, my feet make a pronounced clip-clop noise sounds through the empty corridors.

* * *

><p>"Late on your first day, Loki?" A short man notes my punctuality. I nod in acknowledgment.<p>

"Yeah, got held up in the halls by some flying penguins," He looks at me in confusion. What, are there no flying penguins in the wizarding world?

"Flying penguins?" His eyebrow rises questioningly. I nod.

"Yeah. Penguins. That's right," I must look like very un-Slytherin-ish. He opens up his mouth and begins a tirade about responsibility (Responsible? That's a joke, right?).

I look around, taking in the classroom and my classmates. Some gasp, most look away, but one holds my intent glare and motions to the empty seat next to him. I suppress a smile, because one finally accepts me for who I am instead of running. For the most part, people stop laughing when they see my eyes. They're a nice weapon, I think.

"Got it, Terri Yvette Loki?!" His hair sticks out in places, frazzled from the exertion she used to make me feel horrible. I guess she succeeded.

I feel my face redden a little at my middle name, but I shove the rising embarrassment down my throat. There is no place for weakness. "Yes, Mr. Flitwick."

"You're not going to the office again (He puts and emphasis on "_again_") right now, but I don't know about later. Put on your tie. And go find a seat. Actually, go sit next to Felix over there. Felix, wave your hand," the boy who held my gaze puts one hand in the air and waves a hello. I wave back at him and make my way to him. I place my bag down and sit, aware of everyone's eyes on me.

"What, do I need to say a speech or something? I'm sorry for being late and all, but it's not like I bombed a hospital or something!" I snap, gritting my teeth as as soon as I'm done venting. I take the tie and wrap it around my hair like a ponytail, tying it tight and making sure that the silver S hangs from the complicated knot I will surely have problems undoing later. I feel like slapping myself in the face.

A brave boy pipes up, "You're in a second year class." I retain a calm face over the one that wants to reach out and slap him."You're a first year." I blink. This kid must be stupid or blind not to see the big letters on the board in the front.

"Who let you out of the cage?" The class greets my sharp tongue with a roar of laughter. I gesture to the front of the room and he shuts his drooling mouth. I fix him with my death-stare and he quivers under the force of it. I lower my voice so that it's level and controlled. "I'm already in a bad mood. Do you want to make me mad?" He shakes his head.

"No, of course not ma'am," I harrumph and proceed to open up the book to the proper page and start practicing the spell, noting how Mr. Flitwick had turned a blind eye on the screaming/sarcasm match.

"Agumenti!" Water flows out from the tip of my wand and into a cup and my third try. I pump my fists in the air, congratulating myself. Meanwhile, Felix is struggling to get it the pronunciation correct and ends up conjuring a muddy carnivorous plant which he squishes on sight (after it bit off a bit of his finger's skin). He grimaces at the bright red blood welling up in the shallow cut. I figure it would be just plain awkward if I asked him if I asked him if his blood ever come out black. Yup, definitely awkward. "That looks like it hurts," Well, I am officially awkward by my standards. I'm going go find a gold star and write "Socially Awkward Contest Winner" on it.

"Yeah, it hurts," I gape at him for a while, disbelief clearly shining in my eyes. "Are you waiting to catch flies or something?" I quickly shut my mouth and keep gazing at him. Good, he didn't note the awkwardness that was currently filling the small space, chocking us all in awkwardness (or at least me). He doesn't seem to notice. I'll ask him if I can borrow his anti-awkward armor later.

"Soo..."

"You're supposed to say Agumeti, not aquamenti! Gosh!"

"Ohhh. I see,"

"And then-"

"Excuse me, am I intruding on anything, Mr. Opell and Ms. Loki?" Luckily I had something prepared just in case something like this popped up.

"No, I'm just talking to Felix about how if you wave the wand right, you can get a flying weasel," Professor Flitwick raises a questioning eyebrow and the corner of his mouth quirks up into a small smile.

"Enlighten the class, Ms. Loki," I flip through the book furiously, finding a page with transfiguration on it. I flick my wand at a feather (I have to say "accio" quite a few times) and it whizzes towards me. I trace patterns into the empty air and the feather turns into a weasel, a white on with a black tipped tail.

"Levicourpus!" The weasel squirms in the air, and I make it fly around with my wand until I set it down gingerly in a cage. I don't acknowledge the silence until it becomes very, very apparent.

I turn around and see as follows: Professor Flitwick quickly jotting down notes with an ostrich plume, the popular girls looking at me oddly, the jocks wincing when I catch them staring at me, and Felix just trying to get rid of a mini army of flesh eating plants. I close my eyes and sigh, pushing my chair back so I can sit, impaling two with the tip of my wand. I watch as the bodies writhe and give up, succumbing to the darkness. I grin at the horrified faces of the girls and wave the carcasses at them, making them cringe and my amusement level rise.

"Loki, watch—" my hand shoots up and crushes in a powerful grip a plant that had oddly, grown wings. I look at the mangled body in fascination as the life leaves it slowly. After it dies, I prepare to dissect it but then Dwarf-man dismisses us to our second class, the bell seconding his decision. I shove my books into my bag and walk.

There is a noticeable circle around me now. My personal space bubble. No one will step within a three foot radius of me, and I'm afraid I would too, especially after my monstrous behavior in class. I am lost in my own thoughts when the fist hits home.

"Freak!" I hit the stone wall and crumple, blood splattering to the ground from a gash on my forehead. I grit my teeth, block out the pain, and try to stand tall.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I hiss, narrowing my eyes. But this one is different. He doesn't flinch, just looks at me as if I am the scum of the earth. I have to tilt my head up to see this goon's putrid face. "You don't want to mess with me, you—" I gasp and hit the floor again, the cool stone a calming element against my face. My hair is becoming matted with blood, my blood, which is now streaming from my nose and lip.

No one helps. No one would. I'm alone, alone to die in my own pool of blood. Alone to die, without the cover of sky to comfort me. I've always wanted my last sight to be the twinkle of the stars. Alone to embrace the afterlife. Maybe I'll become a Hogwarts ghost, be like the Bloody Baron. I'd be about as bloody as him too, I think wryly. I writhe in pain, searing lightning bolts of red hot pain striking my midsection repeatedly. I hear a rib crack, then two. It hurts to breathe now. I gasp for small lungfuls of air. My chest is constricted, like a giant is sitting on me.

I feel a heavy shoe on my head. "You were saying?" I feel my hands tighten into fists. The movement catches his eye, and he laughs. "You can't fight me off, you litt—" I suddenly lunge up, and put one foot in his midsection, another where the sun don't shine, and both my fists into his chest. My attack forces him into an empty suit of armor and it clangs, metal scattering everywhere. I wince at my broken fist and at the crowd. The boy stands up again, looking like a tank. I dodge a sledgehammer swing and go for the eyes. I jam my fingers in quickly, dropping to the ground when he does.

The boy lays on the ground, unmoving. I panic and try to run, but it's not long before the loss of blood catches up to me, and I crash into the floor in the great hall. Oxygen is hard to come by now. I can't feel my stomach.

I close my eyes, imagining a white palace where I am safe. Safe from the bullies. Safe from everyone. Safe from myself. I enjoy it. The warmth spreads over me. Is this what it is like to die? If so, it's not so bad. I see a sparkle of light and a portal of darkness. They hover, waiting for me to pick one. But I'm not ready to make that decision yet.

Someone picks me up, shakes me gently. I want to tell them to stop, it hurts. But I also want to tell them I'm up here, look up. He picks me up and carries me to the hospital wing. I follow, wanting to see what happens to my body. He speeds up when I pale and grow cold, and places me gently onto a cot and rushes to find the nurse. When she comes, she feeds my body a herbal drink. A bitter one, I might add. Tastes like someone thought it was a great idea to throw battery acid and dried plum into a blender with some salt water. I feel myself getting tugged back, painfully. But I resist. I don't want to go back go the pain. There is no pain here, no bullies, no one to hurt me here. But I return, and darkness surrounds me and my castle, and I embrace its advances and slip into nothingness.

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><p><strong>AN: Well, that escalated quickly.**


	5. Anime haters, a Techie, and a Bookshelf

**A/N: Here's five... Starfish.**

**DISCLAIMER: Does it look like I own Harry Potter?**

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><p>I'm in a white palace. There is an intricate glass chandelier on the ceiling, and I lie underneath it, tracing its patterns into the clear air. It's calm here. No noise except for the soothing sound of the wind. But it is plain, I desire to see some color. Blues start to flow from my hands and into the cold marble. It spreads like a stain, spreading upwards until the concentrated blue is a pale baby blue, making the glass seem like an ice sculpture.<p>

It reminds me of the movie Frozen, which I had watched recently. I smirk and remember how Elsa had made a snowflake pattern on the floor, so I copied her. That kept me busy for quite a while, trying to emulate the animation as best as I could remember it.

The blue entertains me for a while, but then I wish to see some reds. Again, deep, vivid red spreads from my fingertips and swirls around the blue, making soft spirals and winding itself carefully on the glass decor. The warm red is so strikingly contrast to the light blue. I remember a long-past art class, and take the risk; I add yellow to the mix. The yellow immediately mixes with them, making blue-greens of all shades and intensity. I find out that I can direct the colors, as so I make the chandelier a rainbow. I am now reveling in the splattered pallet of color that surrounds me. Swirling in a white oversize tee, I color myself navy blue and white. The colors seem to fade. No, I want them to stay! _Stay with me!_

"Man, those must have been some serious potions..." I snap awake, a part of me still longing for the color. I'm in the hospital wing, and a boy sits next to me. I'm dressed in my stuffy robes and nowhere near an air conditioner.

"WHAT-ow," I wince when I open my mouth too much, reopening a cut on my forehead. The blood instantly mats the bindings there. Madame Pomfrey hustles over and berates Nix for upsetting me. I stare up at the ceiling.

"... She needs her rest, she's hurt badly. And I thought you know better! You scuttle off now..." Nix leaves, defeated, but not before he drops a note at my uninjured arm.

"Here. Drink this," she hands me a potion that reeks of... Bad stuff.

"What is this?"

"Skele-grow. It'll help your bones heal faster," then, unbidden, she cuts off my air supply and forces me to drink the noxious concoction. It tastes of battery acid and dried plum. Whoever drafted this potions was not thinking about the taste buds.

"Ack!" I force it down, and wave my hand for water. "Water..." The devil spawn calls out for a cup and pours water into it. She then hands it to me gently, whereas I am chugging down the water as it automatically refills, spilling some onto the bed sheets. "Thank," I cough, "you..." Ack. Water going down the wrong way... I cough violently for a few minutes until I am all coughed out, and then I lay back on the cot, snatching the note as I go down. My forearm and ribs start to feel something awful, and I wince when it begins to bubble up, rebuilding the bone. The hand that holds the note clenches and crushes the thin paper.

"What the- DAHHHHHHH!" Ouch. Ow. This hurts. A lot. Hissing, the pain dies down and I discover that I can use my arm again; my ribs are fine too, another bonus. I still have the note in my possession, so I slip it into my pocket. My forehead's wound is still there though. You can't have everything in life. Still, that hurt like the devil.

Speaking of the devil, Madame Pomfrey bustles over and checks me. "Okay sweetie, you're set to go! Don't hurt yourself again though! Now shoo!" She taps her wand on my head and the cut heals. Not so much of a devil, I muse. She's the only person here aside from Nix and Felix that hasn't treated me with hostility. She pushes me out of the wing forcibly, and I ram head-on into another girl, and I fall to the ground.

"WHY DOES EVERYTHING HAPPEN TO- Hi there," I wave tentatively at the girl who is sprawled on the ground, looking up at the ceiling. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just looking at the sky," she points upwards, and just as I look up, lightning flashes in an intricate pattern, indicating incoming rain. "Breathtaking, is it not?"

"Yeah," I gaze upwards and notice how the arch matches my white palace. Maybe this is where I belong.

"You're not as scary as they told me. I'm Lily. Lily Ann Jackson," I hesitantly take her hand. She has a firm grip, but not so tight as to crush my new hand bones. "They said you'd look emo, and that you'd have cuts all over your arms," _What the heck?_

"Nice to know that they all love me," I purposely lace that sentence with sarcasm. People can be so judgmental sometimes. I mean, I look emo, but that doesn't mean I cut and think about suicide and all that sad stuff.

"I hate it when people make assumptions," I eye her gold-red scarf. It must be good to be in a House where everyone cares.

"Yeah, me too," After a few awkward (and failed) attempts to engage in friendly conversation, We finally find a subject that we're both cool on talking: how we hate popular snobs.

* * *

><p>"Well, nice meeting you. I'll be going now, see you later!" It felt nice not being alone. I now had four people that cared. Well, the whole school cared if I was gonna destroy them all, if that counts. I stride along, finding the fruit basket portrait and tickling the pear. It giggles and rolls, opening the way to the kitchens for me. Before I step in, I take in how grand this school is. The graceful arches, the massive windows and tables, the pronounced feeling of magic. I could spend three years complementing the school's architecture, but I'm hungry. And unlike deep thoughts, candied chestnuts, strawberry cordial, and leek and mushroom flan cannot wait.<p>

"Hello miss! Would Terri like her usual again today?" A cheery elf by the name of Sherl is always there when I need her. Well, when I'm hungry is more like it.

"No thanks, I'm thinking... What do you recommend?" The small elf thinks for a second, her ears flicking up and down in heavy concentration.

"We have fresh batches of the almond-crusted vanilla raspberry swirl pound cake you wanted to try yesterday!" My face must have lit up, because she automatically scuttles away and comes back with a tiny platoon of elves carrying a plate with a delectable slice. I inspect the cake.

"Hmmm... The frosting's on a bit thick, you may want to tell the elves in the back," I suggest. I usually help the elves' cooking by giving them critique. At first they would go torture themselves, but them I told them I was helping them make it more extraordinary. They readily accepted me then, making the changes as I said them.

"Yes, Terri! I am thinking that if we add some candies chestnuts to the top, it would look more appealing!" I nod, thinking of the concept. A very tasty concept.

"Yes! And then pair it with some..." I grasp at strings, trying to remember one especially good drink.

"It would go perfectly with the maple sugar tea!" She barks out orders to the others, bringing a kettle of the said tea for me to try. I taste the cake and the tea.

"Woo hoo! I preform a complicated set of handshakes, fist bumps, and other sorts of the same thing with Sherl. I look up and note the incoming darkness. "Well, I best go now. Carmen, my friend, don't forget about trying out the new recipes!" I point at another elf, one of the better cooks, and I sweep out, feeling light-hearted and happy.

As soon as I step out, my demeanor changes. I'm a danger to this school, a weapon that can be disastrous in the wrong hands. I put on my biggest "I-could-kill-with-an-uncooked-spaghetti-noodle" look (signature, I may add), and bring up my chin. Maybe I look like I could kill with a glance, but honestly I think I'm more of a softie. I'm alone, so I sing.

_My eyes are red,_

_From the tears I shed,_

_They are trailing down my cheeks,_

_Making me feel weak,_

_Because I don't have the strength to hold on..._

_Close your eyes it'll be alright,_

_The morning is nigh,_

_And the morning light shall save thee..._

"Gee, you're a really good singer!" I open my eyes. _What. The. Heck._ Is it too much to ask for a couple minutes of peace? Aside from my little dungeon. Not that it's silent there, it's just... Empty, resembling a void.

I glare at the girl. She has blue eyes, resembling mine without the rings. She looks at me and notices the eyes. "Whoa! That's so cool!" I see the Gryffindor scarf hanging from her neck in a slapdash knot. Gryffindor number two.

"Excuse me," I push past her. She turns indignantly and catches sight of the Slytherin tie hanging from my equally messy ponytail. Her face hardens, then falls silent as she too walks away.

I open up the bookcase and head down the dark tunnel, like a wildcat. Not so much of a wildcat when the bookcase slams shut and I jump so high I hit my head in the low ceiling.

"Ow ow ow ow ow..." I hold my head and collapse on the bed. I groan when I remember that I still have supper to sit through. I raise my wand lazily and scratch two lines on the wall, smiling faintly as I do so.

Rolling over, I remember all of the homework I have to do. "Why..." I better get started on it. Nah, I'll do it... Later. I lift my head to look at the pile of scrolls, books, and parchment lying on my desk. _Dang._ I guess I'll start now.

**_*Three hours later*_**

I'm doodling an assassin stabbing a sheet of paper on my History of Magic essay when I hear the alarm I set. It's already time to be a freak show? The depressing thought make me lose my appetite. I guess I'm not eating then. I flop backside down on the plush bed and stare up at the ceiling. I wish I had windows. It would be nice. But even if I did have windows, all I would see is the bottom of a lake...

A loud knock startles me. "WHAT IS IT?!" I have flipped off of the bed and am currently holding open the door. A boy greets me. The blonde, something Malfoy. Two goons stand behind him, trying to hide their shivering hides with the smaller boy.

"There is no need to shout. Headmaster McGonagall requests your presence at the evening banquet," one lump produces a snot bubble through his right nostril as the other guffaws in laughter.

"Well, you can tell her I'm staying here. I am not tolerating any more of the leering looks," I gesture to the trio. "Take your body-guards and let me be. They're not even good for dog scrap anyways," I slam the door shut on him. "AND DON'T COME BACK!" The two hulks scuttle off without their master, tripping over their robes in their haste. Only the blonde stays.

"You are interesting," he points out through the door. Before I can respond with a cutting remark, he turns and leaves. _Ru-ude!_

I'm not hungry anyways, I think. My stomach decides it's a wonderful time to imitate a baleen whale, betraying how hungry I actually am. I have never hated my stomach more than now. Grumbling, I throw on the robes and walk down to the hall.

As soon as I arrive, I wish I hadn't. The weight of people's stares make it hard to walk. The Slytherin table is hostile towards me, sending pointed glares and hushed whispers, with my name here and there. I take the only seat at the middle, feeling uncomfortable. I spot Nix looking at me sadly, pity shining clearly in his eyes. I don't need his pity. I stand up suddenly and head to the Hufflepuffs. Felix waves a shy hello and I make a beeline towards him. I plop myself down into the empty space next to him. All the Hufflepuffs stare at me as if I were an intruder. Well, I am, so I guess they stare at me because I _am_ an intruder.

One looks at me tentatively and I nod. "Yes?"

"This is the Hufflepuff table, Slytherin," she spits out the name like it is venom.

"Is there a rule about where you have to sit?" Last time I heard, there wasn't one.

"Uhhh, no-" I cut her off abruptly.

"Then why can't I sit here?" She opens her mouth and closes it. I smile smugly at her flustered face.

"Hello Terri," Felix's voice is hushed. Reserved.

"Hi 'lix," I decide to shorten his name for the heck of it. He looks at me like he wants to strangle me. "Okay, okay, hello _Felix,_" He narrows his eyes and ignores the emphasis I put on his name. Some people laugh silently into their napkins, shoulder shaking slightly with mirth. I grin.

The excited chatter starts again, but this time I can engage. What I learned over a scrumptious cream brulee: Kristin Lee was recently hospitalized because she attempted to fight with Felix. Apparently his cat is very protective of him and turned into some sort of monster (with wings) and... Needless to say, she was hurt badly.

_(Never gonna look at Felix the same way ever again)_

There are a group of Hatsune Miku/ anime/manga haters that gather regularly in the second-floor bathroom, where they hatch ideas to ruin her reputation.

_(Whaatttttt? They're not going anywere anyways. Hello Japan!)_

You can find the techie in the library, nearest the middle window. He's also a chain smoker.

_(Wow.)_

And all sorts of gossip, which I didn't pay attention to, but for some reason they kept asking me questions. For example;

Interviewer/ Gossip powerhouse: Are you in a relationship?

Me: What the heck?

Girl: I'll take that as a yes. Who are you dating?

Me: WHAT?

Girl: Ohhh, she's tots like, dating Felix!

By that point, I had turned a violent shade of red out of a mixture of embarrassment and rage. They took that as a yes and were about to scramble over to the said boy before I thought of something.

"Stop it!" They turn towards me. Whoa, they can actually listen. "How would you like it if _I_ told your crushes you like them?" Oh shist. I am SCREWED. I meant "If I told someone you don't like that you like them?"

Shist.

Shist.

Shist.

They look at me as I refrain from banging my head against the table. I cast a tentative glance at them, and an unspoken agreement passes through. The girls turn away from Felix and walk back to their respective seats. I _really_ dodged a bullet that time. _But now I'm in a dangerous spot_, I think when dinner ends and I head back to my tiny dungeon to rest.

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><p><strong>AN: How many of you readers have been in that spot? Say yes if you have.**

**What's that? I didn't hear you.**

**Louder, please!**

**Man, you look like a lunatic shouting at the screen. What did it ever do to you?**

**Reviews are welcome, thank you!**


	6. All The Reasons

A/N: And back! Haven't been on for a while, apologies.

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>Three weeks have passed since the first act of violence. I have used roughly about half my stash of mini weapons of mass confusion, most of it during class. But I almost always get away with it. But sometimes I don't, trying to blame the excessive stench on Kevin ( I was sent to the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid), the ridiculous amount of flowers in the classroom on Danielle (Detention with Filch), and the setting off the fire alarm on the second floor on William (lectured to oblivion by McGonagall herself). The sidelong stares and wary atmosphere has dissipated somewhat, but it's still there, slightly there when someone makes a crack at me, when a group of people stop talking when I enter the room, or when I walk in on people talking about me. Today might be uneventful, but there is always a calm before a storm. I keep my eyes open, scanning the crowd for any potential dangers and for Nix and Felix. A large hand clamps down on my shoulder and I jump.<p><p>

"Terri Loki?" Snape's weathered voice is clipped. Oh man. Did he see that I planted a howler on Gregory the other day in Potions? Because I'm pretty sure he didn't catch that.

"Yeah," I turn, awaiting judgement, "What is it?" He sends a glare at a snobby-looking girl who had crept close to me, about to plant a howler ( It's Gregory's girlfriend, what a coincidence!) on me. She skitters off, her golden hair bouncing behind her, most likely extensions. "Thanks,"I had gotten quite a lot the past days, the majority calling me a freak and two from parents telling me not to harm their child. I promptly sent them back to the original owners, with a variety of bombs in them that triggered the instant they opened them. Peeves has helped me a lot.

That went pretty well, but then I found out that most of them were from the Slytherins. So I began eating in my room or in the kitchens with the house-elves. They're actually nice company, most of them enjoy being around me. And they are polite, but I have to remind them to stop calling me "ma'am" constantly. But I'm pretty sure they'll call everyone "mister" and "ma'am".

"What do you need me for?" Sure, I DID cut half of Elizabeth's hair off (more like shaved off half her head), but how was I supposed to know that diffendio was the cutting spell? Hell, she looks better with half of her bird's nest gone. Or was it because I called Scorpius a foul loathsome little cockroach and then promptly transfigured him into one? He IS a foul loathsome little cockroach, I open my mouth so say so, but Snape ignores me and motions for me to follow him.

I follow him to his classroom and I glance around nervously. "Why am I here? What's going on? When am I allowed to go back out—"

"I have told you many, many times, Loki, that you learn by listening, not by talking," I stop in my tracks. "You're here because the teachers are aware of what you are, what the other kids are doing, and the fact that you can't defend yourself. So let me see what you can do," he flicks his wand almost lazily at a closet and a mummy-like figure steps out. It looks at me, groans, and then transforms.

The sight paralyzes me. It's my father, with his bottle in hand and sleeping pills in the other. He lumbers towards me, and every step he takes forward, I take back. Nope, not paralyzing, but close. He has taken my mind, but at least my body still functions correctly.

"No, no, no! No, no..." My father is dead. How could he be here? My mind is running at thousand miles, yet it is frozen at the same time. I cannot move anymore, I'm backed up against the wall. "Please, not again, no, no..." I slide down and try to hold back the tears of fear from escaping my wide eyes. One plops down, streaking a trail down my high cheeks and result in a waterfall. Flashes of my past come back with ever drop, each as painful as breaking bone. Pain. Horrible pain. And the humility, the suffering, and the feeling of dread. "Stay away! I'll kill you, stay away from me, I'll-I'll snap every single bone in your body, I'll snap your head off your neck, stay AWAY!" I stand up on the last word and uppercut him viscously with my fist, and roundhouse him, taking off his head with a sickening CRACK. The body of my father reverts back to the awkward-looking mummy creature, minus the head (which had gone sailing out the open window and landed somewhere outside.). Needless to say, I am still crying, just feeling a little better after the rush.

"Hmm. Strong physically, but weak-minded. Interesting," I look back at Professor Snape, who has not moved an inch, only observing me closely with dark, expressionless eyes. Distant ones, ones who have loved before and have had their hearts wrenched to bits. He glances out the window and winces. "You kicked the head all the way into the Forbidden Forest," he cranes his neck out the window in an attempt to see where it went.

"EXCUSE ME? I FIGHT A FREAKING DUMMY THAT LOOKED LIKE MY FREAKING DRUNKARD FATHER, AND ALL YOU CAN SAY IS INTERESTING?!" I scream at him, and then collapse on the floor, waterworks opening up again. Giving up. It's the grand reopening, welcome one and all, lady droplets and gentledrips! Witness the great release of tears, our greatest tourist attraction! Don't let your children get to close to the rails!

"No, no, please no, don't hurt me, no, father, no!" I curl up into a small ball, hugging my knees. "No, not the bottle, daddy, please, no..." Snape's voice is muffled through my stupor. He's calling my name, calling for someone else. But it doesn't matter to me, I'm reliving a nightmare. I remember searing ribbons of pain as he beat me with the broken end of a bottle. I rock back and forth, lost in my living hell. "No, no, no, someone, help..." Playing his twisted "games" that ranged from me roasting on the stovetop to being locked in the basement for days with no food and tied to the support beams. The neighbors pretended to not hear my tortured screams. School wasn't much of a refuge, with the cliques looking for someone to pick on. Teachers noticed, and they called my father. I went back the following day with a black-and-blue stomach. After that, they didn't call ever again, and turned a blind eye if I showed up with a black eye or cuts on my arms. No one would listen to my story, and even if they did, then I faced weeks with barely enough food to support a mouse.

Months upon months of suppressed memories crash though my flimsy barrier. I try to hold back the fierce flood, but it's about as effective as fighting the sea with a sword. They attack my sandcastle, hours upon hours of hard work destroyed in one wave.

My haunted screams rattle the windows, shake the ground, and most of all, reveal my tortured and bleeding insides. I scream until my breath turns my throat ragged and resort to rasping painfully, withered breaths one after another. Once I cannot even whisper, I just curl up and hide inside the relative safety of my robes.

A nudge startles me, and I flash open my eyes. A humanoid shape looms over me, and I curl up tighter, unable to scream, unable to crawl away. "No... Don't hurt me... Father, stop it, it hurts," I feel wave after wave of despair crash over me. But a small spark of rage is there, riding them. Why should I be scared of him? Why am I fearful of him? Why do I run? What can he do? The spark kindles, roars, and starts to consume the ocean. The depressing blue is now a vivid pallet of reds and oranges. The licking flames send up thick smoke into the night sky, clogging up the air and suffocating me. My own defiance is killing me in the end, I think wryly.

I remember taking to the streets after slipping an extra dose of Perzoac into his alcohol. That day he had come home surrounded by the unmistakeable stench of nicotine and alcohol. Came home in a drunken rage, having lost one too many games. Came home to take out his rage out on something, someone.

Someone like me.

I barely made it out, cut and bruised as I was. Made it to the orphanage, they accepted me. They taught me, and the trauma caught up to me. So my mind protected me, made me forget. They told me that my scar was from falling glass, told me my parents had left me here because they were too young. But now I know the truth. I snap open my intense blues and something inexplicable happens.

Nix, the shadow that was leaning over me, is rooted to his spot. His eyes are fixed on mine, unblinking. Hmm, I'm pretty sure that humans can't go more than three minutes without blinking at least once. What, am I a horrendous entity that he cannot tear his eyes off of? Are my eyes seriously that red and swollen? I wipe my eyes, clearing my blurred vision, but then I see the water he is holding and the spilled drops floating in the air. That's not possible. Gravity doesn't work like that. I examine the liquid globes and note how one has an air bubble trapped in the watery prison, which wouldn't be possible unless...

Time has stopped.

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>AN: Sorry for the wait... Сиаси6о (thank you) for waiting.


	7. Another Ally

**DISCLAIMER:** Psshhhhh... Yeah right.

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><p>Everything has stopped. Frozen in space. I glance around, making a small smile at Snape'a face, which is in the process of reprimanding Nix, who is looking back at him with defiance shinning in his eyes, most likely retaliating with a legit argument. His glasses are slipping from his nose, but his eyes are sharp enough to see by themselves. I think for a moment how I admire his loyalty. But then the concept that everything's standing still for me sinks in, and my tears subside.<p>

I stand, wobble, and catch myself on the desk before I knock everything down. I stalk slowly around, noting how a bubbling potion has a popping bubble which is freeze-framed. Small vials with what looks like smoke in them are stationary.

Suddenly I black out for a second. I grab the shelf to support myself, and a sharp pain hammers my head. I feel woozy and disoriented, confused for a second. Exhaustion makes me fade in and out. I guess making time stop is going to kill me, I think. I feel a small feeling.

I'll put it like this. Imagine that you're holding onto a thin thread that's barely there, yet it is. And then it starts slipping from you fingertips, unbeknownst to you and once it's gone, it doesn't make a difference. But once you look for it, you can feel the difference in between your fingertips.

Thats what it feels like when I realize that time is retuning, slowly, but still coming back. I look for the "thread" but it's not in my mind ancient clock on the wall begins to tick again. Nix's eye flick down at the empty space below him and then up at me, all the way across the room. His mouth opens in a perfect "o" and then opens wider when he sees that only cold cobblestone will greet him. Professor Snape quickly lashes out with his wand, catches him, and seizes me.

"Very well. You are able to use your Power," he says the word "power" as if it were sacred.

"Excuse me, but I have NO idea what's going on whatsoever," Nix's voice is muffled by the mattress he had face planted into. He's too lazy to lift his head up to talk normally.

"That makes two," I add, unable to stop the torrent of questions occupying my head and flooding the room. "What happened? I was able to stop time, everything was frozen and stuff, like—"

"SILENCE!" I close my mouth. "Good. You have the Witch-eyes, which means that you have a Power. The Power can be an ability ranging from cooking to killing. It appears that you have the Power of Kiia, which is the ability to stop time. The last bearer of the Witch-eyes had the Power of Vevin, or sleeping. Very useless," I can't help but laugh from behind my hand.

"Actually, I would like this 'Vevin' thing you speak of," Nix grumbles something about his bunk mates, and then curses something awful in another tongue. Sounds something like darvin, but I have no idea.

"Watch your language," it looks like Professor Snape knows what it means. Doesn't make a difference to me. "Anyways, Terri Yvette Loki, you possess the Power of Kiia, the burden that your mother passed down to you through your bloodline. You have no idea how much danger you're in." I open my mouth to ask what, why, from whom? The bell decides it a wonderful time to ring, and I am kicked out to make room for his new class.

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><p>"And so you grab the root like this—COLLIN, DON'T DO TH— someone take him to the hospital wing please," I watch in amusement as another boy attempts to lift him using brute strength. I debate whether or not to help him, but then I realize I might just scare him and end up having to carry one to the Infirmary and the other to the bathroom. Well, maybe he'll just make water in the class. It's a possibility.<p>

"Why do I hear talking?" She's already tired from teaching four other classes, and this is he last class of the day until we can go back to our dorms. Yay. Back to my tiny dungeon that's in another dungeon. My House is awesome. Hip hip hooray.

"Because you have ears?" All heads swivel towards me. Gosh, I swear everyone's head is on a wheel, it just goes ZZZZINK! And bam! Everyone's starin' at me without making eye contact. I have no ideas how that works, but they can do it.

"Office. Now," She points at the arched entry, her wand-tip glowing with red sparks as an indicator of her rage. Oh goody. It's my fourth time there, and it's only been a week. I give myself a mental note to start a tally system on my empty wall to count how many times I've been there.

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><p>"Back talking a teacher? Seriously?" Micky McGonagall is looking at me like I'm wearing a "kick me in the crotch" sign. I sigh, remembering the said sign that had been taped to my back yesterday. With magically reapplying tape. Seriously. But luckily I caught the little bugger and set off a couple B.O. bombs that would keep all the girls away for a while yet (that was my third time here). You need to shower in lavender and honey to get that horrible stuff off, water and body soap just doesn't cut it.<p>

"Excuse me? Anyone home?" I snap back to reality, stashing away ideas of using magic to make the stench smell worse everyday to the back of my mind.

"Yes?" Hmmm, but the Scourgify spell would remove all traces… I'll just need to magically enhance it then.

"You'll have detention with Professor Snape this Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday," Great. There goes my party Friday. I mean, partying alone in my tiny room or reading in the library is THE way to spend a Friday. My future sure does look bright.

"Got it..." She nods and turns her back.

"You are dismissed," I walk out slowly, and then bump into a suit of armor that wasn't there before.

"WHAT IS THIS SHI—" I catch myself before I can get another detention. A floating ghost laughs at my situation. "NOT FUNNY!" He only laughs louder, a prankster's laugh. My laugh, just in a different voice.

_Little Loki's a-grumble,_

_She should put the suit back before she's in trouble,_

_But while she puts it back,_

_I'll give a couple more a good whack!_

I shake my fist. This must be what it's like to be around me, I think. "Look into my eyes, will you?" He can't resist the concept of a staring contest, and then bounces through a wall and back when he sees the rings.

_We've got a dangerous one here,_

_That's obvious without a beat._

_For she can shoot me through with fear,_

_That alone is quite a feat._

"Ehh, well I'm not really that dangerous, I like to set up pranks and stuff, some of which MAY be dangerous..." The ghost's face lights up like a child's on Christmas.

"Me too! Name's Peeves," I raise an eyebrow.

"Peeves? What kind of name is that? Is it like, because you have tons of pet peeves?" His face becomes one of a deep thinker.

"Maybe. Most likely," he nods at my observation.

"Hey, do you know how to make a bad smell smell even worse and everlasting?" We engage in friendly banter, him giving me some tips and vice versa. At the end of the conversation, I now know how to turn howlers into seemingly harmless envelopes to return to the sender, how to effectively sleep in Professor Binn's history class, and most importantly, how to charm an origami animal to attack people. It's useful, especially when you make armies of them (I now have over fifty origami dragons, sharks, and phenixes. Each.).

I turn the corner and slam right into the bookcase. "Dang it!" I press down on the shelf violently and it opens, my free hand holding my bloody nose. I glance back at the ghost and wave a good bye, closing the passage behind me after I check to see that no one is watching.

Little do I know that someone was watching me the whole time.

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><p>The stench of burning flesh fills the room. Without looking, I know it is mine.<p>

"Tell me where the girl is," a menacing shadow looms over me. A lone candle casts leaping shadows on the soft contours of the wall.

"What girl?" I mustn't betray her location. For her safety.

"You lie. You know where she is," he takes a pair of tongs that had been resting on the fireplace. They glow red-hot. And then it hovers over my face. Carefully. Surgically.

"I don't know who you're talking about!" No, no. This can't be happening. But I will not reveal her. I will lay my life down for her.

"Very well then. So be it," the tongs lower and make contact with my chest. Sharp, burning pain electrifies my body.

"For the love of-" and darkness descends on me.

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><p><strong>AN: **I'm sorry for the wait! It's here now, isn't it?

Happy Mother's Day!


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